The Annual Imladris Christmas Party
by OneSizeFitsAll
Summary: Lord Elrond's plans to make Estel's childhood a happy one appear to be foiled when Gandalf and the Imladris elves call strike.


_Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! It's the big day! And this is the last story of the FFCC. Which is really sad...I'm so going to miss working on it. :(_

_As always, if you have not already read the other fics in the FFCC, I suggest you go back and do so since this fic ties in with the others by quite a bit. The first one is entitled The Iron Hills Mall by Lily Lindsey-Aubrey, and you can find it either on her page or on my favourites. You can also read up on the entire FFCC project on my profile page._

_Before we get started, here are ccgaylord's replies to the reviews on Christmas on Baker Street:_

_**Rousdower**__: Otters? I don't understand that reference... :D But maybe so..._

_**ThurinRanger**__: O.O Have you not seen Hobbit 3 yet? I haven't. T_T Good guesses as to Moriarty's phobia. I was going to make it leprechauns, but that was so dumb I didn't end up putting it in the story. Yes; sorry I was late getting the story out - I was Christmas Eve shopping all morning. :D_

_**Melkor'sOnlyLieutenant**__: I know why you find poisoned gummy bears funny - because it was Lily Lindsey-Aubrey's idea. The parts she makes up are always the funniest. And yes, I think you'd really like Sherlock. He's a rather villainous anti-hero, yet very lovable (kind of like Loki)._

_**Thalion Estel**__: Thank you very much! Yes, the next story is amazing: read on!_

_**2MFriedmanFreak**__: What, you still like bears after reading this story? Maybe you're Moriarty in disguise. O.O_

_Thanks, everybody! Enjoy your last, very last, story. This is too sad for Christmas day. :(_

_The FFCC is an inter fandom event, so I am including a short character list for those not familiar with LotR._

Elrond: The half-elven lord of Rivendell/Imladris/last Homely House, he always looks like he has a migraine, to quote a friend.  
Gandalf: (the Grey) A wizard of the White Council, he likes hobbits and pipeweed.  
Estel: Elrond's foster son, he is man. When he grew up, he was also known as Aragorn, Strider, the Dunedain, and Elessar.  
Glorfindel: A yellow haired elf in Elrond's employ, he killed a balrog in a previous life.  
Erestor: A dark haired elf who acts as Elrond's advisor.  
Lindir: A dark haired minstrel in Elrond's household.  
Elladan and Elrohir: Twin sons of Elrond, they are reportedly very immature.  
The dwarves: Technically "Hobbit" characters, if you want to know more about them, read "The Iron Hills Mall".  
Haldir: A yellow haired elf from Lothlorien, in the employ of Lady Galadriel.

_If you read above character list, you have noticed that this is a little bit of a LotR/Hobbit crossover. Also, it ties in to "The Iron Hills Mall" even more than usual._

_Enjoy!_

**Calling Strike**

**By OneSizeFitsAll**

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me twelve drummers drumming…_

It was Christmas Eve in Rivendell, Lord Elrond had just arrived home from the mall, and Gandalf had called strike. Every hallway in the last Homely House was buzzing with the news. After years and years of playing Santa Claus in the annual Christmas party Lord Elrond invariably put on for his foster son, the wizard had finally said he would do it no longer.

"Gandalf, please!" said Elrond, pacing the floor before the immovable wizard. "There's no one in all Imladris who can take your place!"

"I am decided," said Gandalf decidedly. "I am far too old to have my beard pulled and my knee sat on another Christmas. Not to mention, Estel has been up to even more devilry than usual lately, and I don't trust myself at his mercy."

"But…" began Elrond, "you don't realize what is at stake here. We are losing not only our Santa...you've ruined the morale of the entire household. Every moment, more elves hand in their resignation. If this continues, there will be no Christmas party at all this year!"

"Then let there be no Christmas party this year," said Gandalf. "One would think that Estel has had enough candy and presents in his lifetime to last him through this Christmas."

Elrond threw up his hands in despair. After a long day shopping for Estel, he did not have the energy to deal with a crisis like this. "But it will ruin his happy childhood!" he cried (Elrond had been planning to write a short novella about Estel's happy childhood).

"Oh, I don't think so," said Gandalf. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to visit my friends in the Shire."

The half-elven lord collapsed into a convenient easy chair as the wizard strode out and two elves strode in. It was Glorfindel and Erestor, and Elrond knew what they were going to say before it was even out of their mouths.

"Lord Elrond," said Erestor, fidgeting nervously.

"We have decided to go on strike," finished Glorfindel, confidently. "We refuse to play Santa's elves this Christmas, unless you increase our wages by 50 percent."

"For the Christmas party?" gasped Elrond. "50 percent?"

"No," said Erestor, bravely. "For the year."

"But that's preposterous!" cried Elrond. "I will do no such thing. And you," he continued, giving them the infamous eyebrows of doom, "will still play Santa's Elves. Now, go put on your costumes."

Glorfindel and Erestor exited Elrond's study in a considerable hurry.

"Well," said Erestor, sadly, "so much for that."

"What do you mean, so much for that?" asked Glorfindel. "He can't make us be Santa's Elves...let's go hide under the stairs until he says he'll raise our wages." Hiding was Glorfindel's solution to all his problems… well, at least, to the ones wherein the Half-Elven Lord with eyebrows of doom was concerned.

Elrond was still stalking about, trying to find them and shouting threats at midnight on Christmas Eve. He gave up at half past twelve, and threw himself into an armchair by the fire, pulling at his half-elven hair.

"I can still do this!" he cried, speaking aloud, in order to preserve his sanity. (By the way, for the sake of our younger and more naive audience, speaking out loud does not work to preserve one's sanity. It does the opposite.) "As long as there are presents and music, we can still have a party!"

That was when he noticed the slip of paper on the table by the chair. He snatched it up and ran his eyes down the note.

_Dear Lord Elrond,_ it read,

_I am going on strike. Unless you start paying me for playing my beautiful music and making Rivendell a happier place, I will not be the musician at the Christmas party tomorrow. Do not think that you can force me into playing my music for you...I am hiding, in a place where you will never find me. Unless you promise that you will raise my wages, I won't come out._

_Yours triumphantly,_

_Lindir_

"Lindir!" bellowed Elrond. There was no answer. The lord of Rivendell threw up his hands for the fiftieth time that evening and groaned. "Still," he muttered between clenched teeth, "if there are presents, Estel will be happy."

Just then, the phone rang. Elrond snatched it from the receiver.

"Hello?" he said, irritably.

"Hey Dad!" called a voice over the telephone. "This is Elladan and Elrohir. We just wanted to let you know we're going on strike. We won't bring home the presents you put in our car to drive home, unless you double our allowances."

"DOUBLE YOUR ALLOWANCES?" shouted Elrond. "WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR, A…"

"If you do not double our allowance," interrupted his son, "We're hiding right now, and we have all the presents with us. You will not be able to find either us or the gifts. And Estel won't get any presents for Christmas."

"YOU LITTLE…" began Elrond...and then he remembered he was speaking to his son, and did not want him to pick up a lot of foul language to use back on him. He slammed the phone back onto the hook and paced the room, fuming.

It was six o'clock in the morning and Lord Elrond was snoozing in the armchair with a half empty bottle of Dorwinion beside him. He had given up all hope of a Christmas party.

There was a knock on the door, and he started up, shouting angrily, "Who's there?"

There was a scuffle outside, and then the drumming started, and several voices began to sing: "Santa Baby! Just slip a sable under the tree for me…"

Elrond had already jumped out of his chair and threw open the door to shout at the poor unfortunates outside and make them cease their inane noise. But as the door swung open, the first thing he saw was a dwarf with a long white beard, dressed all in red and white, in a sleigh pulled by an elk. And the back of the sleigh was piled high with pink hairbrushes, fondue pots, and other various gifts. Around the sleigh were twelve other dwarves, all beating drums and singing at the top of their lungs.

Elrond's mouth dropped open. In case that fact is not enough to illustrate the state of mind that he was in, let me say that he did not even realize that the dwarves had moved on to the second verse of "Santa Baby".

One of the dwarves stepped forward and stuck out a hat with an awkward bow, and Lord Elrond was pulled back to his senses.

He cackled maniacally. "You want money?" he asked.

"Fund the quest to reclaim Erebor!" shouted one of the dwarves.

"Come in here, then!" said Elrond. "I'll hire you all to put on a Christmas party for my foster son."

"Put on a party?" asked a regal dwarf with a deep British voice, doubtfully. "And what does that entail?"

"Presents, music, Santa Claus, elves," said Elrond, still cackling and cracking his knuckles. "Your lot will do perfectly."

"Well," said one of the dwarves, "we can do all that easily enough."

"Santa Claus!" screamed a voice.

Elrond spun around to see Estel standing at the top of the stairs in his pyjamas.

"Hahahahahahohohoho, my boy!" laughed the white bearded dwarf, unexpectedly. "Merry Christmas! I've brought you a boat load of presents for Christmas!" He held out a blue wrapped box, tied with an enormous green bow.

Three heads, a blonde one and two brunettes, popped around the stairs and the owners of said heads simultaneously gasped.

"Lord Elrond…" began Erestor.

"The dwarves…" continued Glorfindel.

"They're gone!" cried Lindir.

Everyone turned to stare at him and he blushed deeply.

"I...I...I mean," he stuttered, "we…"

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days," said a voice, and Haldir strode in, dragging Elladan and Elrohir by the ears. "Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel requests that you keep your sons out of her realms. They have been wreaking havoc all evening."

Estel ran, shrieking, down the stairs and in a few minutes he was comfortably situated on "Santa's" knee, pulling his beard cheerfully.

"But...but…" gasped Erestor, nearly passing out.

"You can't just let your foster son sit on a _dwarf's_ lap!" said Glorfindel.

"Oh can't I?" asked Elrond with an evil leer. "If you don't like it, just go hide, again." And he strode off to finish his bottle of Dorwinion, smiling triumphantly. Next year, he felt sure, no one would be calling strike.

**The End**

_Important Disclaimer: Only a very small fraction of the credit for this story is due me. The plot was a group effort between Lily, cc, and I, as well as our respective sisters. Many of the funniest circumstances were suggested by cc, and Lily went through a google document last night and added nearly all the existing hilarious lines out of her own brain. So make sure to give them a round of applause. :)_

_Author's Note: How's your all's Christmas going? What was your favourite present? Have a good one! And don't miss the FFCC too much..._


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